Love Songs
by CheshireCity
Summary: Arthur gets more than he bargains for when he comes to D.C. to visit for Alfred's birthday. Slight song fic, USUK.


Originally, this piece was written as a fill for the LiveJournal kink meme. It can be found at Part 13, Page 19, if you are so inclined. Enjoy!

* * *

**Love Songs (Iris)**

It had been with begrudging spirits that Arthur had decided to fly out to visit _his rebellious child _that July. The last couple decades he had sufficed for sending the younger nation a small gift basket in honor of his birthday, but Alfred had pleaded and begged...

With a frustrated sigh, the Brit flopped down on what was to be his bed. Washington D.C. was so _muggy_ out this time of year. Just the short jaunt from the limo (absolutely preposterous having something that gaudy and flashy pick him up from the airport!) to Alfred's house had him sweating bullets. It was disgusting and uncomfortable.

Not that Alfred had seemed to mind any. He had greeted him with his typical wide smile, almost as if he was oblivious to the Brit's discomfort. "Why're ya wearing so much?" he had laughed, punching Arthur's shoulder good naturedly. The hooligan himself was only in shorts and a loose fitting tank.

"I'd like to keep my dignity, thank you." Arthur replied dryly.

"Awe, come on, it's gotta be so _hot_ in that stuffy old uniform of yours!"

"I'm perfectly fine." the other huffed - partly out of indignation, and partly because it was getting difficult to breathe. And with that, he had hefted his trunk from the obscene vehicle and wheeled it up three stories to his room.

He was almost regretting his stern disapproval of Alfred's clothes. Almost. It sounded so nice... With a grunt, he rolled off the mattress, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. His jacket sat folded upon his desk. He wished he had the confidence and reckless abandon of America. It would make things so much easier. Making his way to the window, he kicked off his shoes and socks, plopping finally into the large window seat.

Outside, the city was festooned in splashes of red, white, and blue. Banners on streetlights, streamers around the trunks and branches of trees, flags, swags of color over the balconies of banks and houses, signs displayed in shop fronts... but it wasn't _his_ pattern of red, white, and blue. An acid jolt rolled through his stomach. He had _told_ Alfred that his thick British accent would raises conflict when the citizens were at their most patriotic. Against him and everything he stood for. The average citizens below may not have remembered _those_ days, but he certainly did. The hatred. Arthur whimpered. He suddenly felt very unwelcome.

He rose, turning away from the happy display below him and fiddled uneasily with the radio dials before gathering the firm resolve to take a bath.

Alfred, for his part, was entirely in his element. The gaudy displays of patriotism adorning every wall, citizen, and street corner. The proud stands of fireworks, all proclaiming 4th cheer. The bustling people beyond his door; families with excitable children, young couples and old ones, both making memories. It was a wonderful time of unifying as a people. He supposed that's why he enjoyed the day being his birthday so much. Everyone was so happy and adventurous.

From his dining room table he could see vendors dishing out bowl after bowl of ice cream, and more down the way offering face painting and charicatures. Later that night they'd be selling glowsticks and thick blankets. Apple cider, too. That was one of Alfred's favorites.

One of the windows was cracked open, and from it, he could hear the distant beating of drums and the trill of a fiddle. The players would be in full Revolutionary regalia. A placid smile drew across his lips. Arthur wouldn't care much for that. Somehow the idea bemused him. He almost wanted to provoke the older man. It was, afterall, the only time when the tea bastard was genuine and not all stiff and egotistical. It was nice to knock him down a peg. It was fun. Besides, it _was_ his birthday, Alfred reasoned. Maybe Arthur would actually willingly participate in the day's activities. He didn't fly out for nothing.

Cocky grin plastered to his face, Alfred pushed away from the table and stole up the stairs. The patriotic beats from below followed him up to the second floor, dancing at his heels as he rounded a corner and began up the next flight. Halfway up, it halted, mingling abruptly with music from above. Curious, the American proceeded with caution, all previous agendas disappearing. What was that?

A few strands trailed over to the blonde.  
_'And all I can breathe is your life'_  
Now what was that?

The melody grew slightly louder as he crept down the hallway. He paused occasionally at one door or the next. It wasn't from Matthew's room he frowned, popping his head in the vacant room. The large polar bear looked at him quizzically as he shut the door again. He wasn't going to question it's choice of Oprah. With a low hum, he wandered over to the next door. Vacant. The next was the bathroom. He passed it. The music grew stronger still: he was growing closer. Now what was that song? The name was on the tip of his tongue.

_When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am._

Alfred's heart jolted. This time, there was a second voice that accompanied the song. A rougher, yet hushed voice. He crossed the hall passed Toris' room, down a few doors to pause outside of a certain Brit's room.

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_

A rush of heat overtook the blond, and he knew it wasn't from the weather. Gingerly, he pressed himself against the heavy door, listening attentively.

_When everything feels like the movies  
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive_

The voice trembled then, catching slightly. The song continued to play, and the singer took a moment to catch up with it, voice swelling with emotion.

_When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am_

Alfred paused, heart alternating between clenching and racing. After a second, he placed his hand over the door handle and turned it as quietly as possible. It swung open a margin, just wide enough to eye the other man standing before the window, silohuetted, his arms wrapped around himself protectively. His bangs hung in his face defeatedly.

_And I don't want the world to see me  
Because I don't think that they'd understand_

Were it any other day, the scene would have been completely corny. It was, really, but Alfred knew. Those words, that particular date... it was too ironic to be coincidence. He started as the man before him gave a small convulsion, hand moving up to cup his mouth. Was he... crying? A tremor of guilt ran through the younger blond as he watched, wordless, from the doorway. He was remembering, no doubt about it. Maybe inviting him out wasn't such a good idea afterall...

_And I don't want the world to see me_

Memories flitted by in bursts. That face, filled with tears looking up at him in desperation. He hadn't wanted to let go either. Not like that. But he couldn't live suppressed any longer either.

_Because I don't think that they'd understand_

Francis had stood behind him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. The eyes below him flickered with hatred and his heart had dropped.

_When everything's made to be broken_

It hurt so much he had felt he could throw up. He turned on his heel, almost leaning against the Frenchman he had been so exhausted, and refusing to look back. Refusing. Knowing - hearing - the broken sobs behind him.

_I just want you to know who I am_

Freedom wasn't free, and it hadn't come easy... for anyone.

_I just want you to know who I am_

Strong arms wrapped around him, startling Arthur from his pained recollections. They held him tight as golden hair tickled at his neck and a nose gently nuzzled into his back.

"Arthur..."

His heart leapt.

"That's a really corny song, you know."

A ruddy blush spread over his cheeks and he struggled against the embrace. "Why you rude little piece of shi-"

"I'm sorry."

It came out as a whisper. The Brit paused in confusion, trying to dry up the tears before Alfred saw too much. It was already compromising and embarrassing enough as it was. The song finished and switched to the next song on the station. They sat silently for several seconds, listening to the grating sound of a young girl singing about the country and partying in it.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." the other began again. "This was probably a really bad idea, I can see you're upset. Guess it was kinda insensiti-"

"W-what do you mean?" Arthur started, blushing harder at the younger nation's sudden genuity. "It's okay, I said I'd come out for your birthday and all, so here I am!"

"...You know what I'm taking about. I saw you, Arthur. I heard you singing. You... I know... it wasn't easy for me either." the nose moved up across his expanse of back. It nestled against the crook of his neck now. When had he grown so much? It always came as such a surprise. "I don't care if you believe me or not, Arthur, but... it really was. I never meant to hurt you, I just... I needed out. Please understand. I had to do right by my people. But I never meant to hurt _you_... you understand, right?"

Silence. Just the steady beating of two hearts.

Arthur wriggled a bit, turning around in Alfred's grasp. Those hands still clung to his waist. He tried not to notice. Blue eyes were swimming with pleading. Something inside he'd rather not admit to fluttered.

"I forgive you, you wanker." he sniffed, a half smile forming on his lips. "Break it again, though, and I'll have to put you in your place." he sighed.

"Break what?" the younger blond blinked, loosening his grip.

"My heart, you twat." the Brit laughed softly, brushing a kiss on the top of Alfred's nose before heading to the door. The American stared after him incredulously.

"Arthur...?"

"Come on, you look like a fish with your mouth hanging open like that." the other admonished with a laugh. He palmed the remaining tears from the corners of his eyes, his usual posh defiance coming back to him. "Are we going to celebrate your birthday or not?"

"Y-You want to celebrate out there?" the American stared dazedly, indicating over his shoulder to the festivities below.

"Why not? I didn't come out here for nothing!" the Brit scoffed.

"But I thought -?"

"Oh, and Alfred?"

"Eh?"

"You're right - that _is_ a cheesy song." With a rueful smile, the Brit virtually traipsed down the hall, heart feeling increasingly lighter.

Alfred, needless to say, had a wonderful birthday.


End file.
